


Use Your Head

by fififolle, rain_sleet_snow



Series: A Question Of Trust [3]
Category: Primeval
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-05
Updated: 2010-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fififolle/pseuds/fififolle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don’t need to wear your heart on your sleeve for people to notice something’s wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Use Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> Part three of the collaboration.

            Something was bothering Eric Wickes, and this was strange enough to seriously surprise his colleagues. A pathologist, he had only spent three months at the ARC, but his cheerful, expansive and oddly unrevealing face was familiar to almost everyone around the building. Like his calmer sister, Lorraine, it was rumoured that he knew everyone in the building and had no nerves. Neither of these was entirely true: for instance, there was an extremely large nerve hardwired into the brain of every Wickes family member, and that nerve was labelled ‘Lorraine’. It was currently going haywire.

 

            Ever since Eric and his twin George could remember, Lorraine had been something of a target. Shyer than her brothers and sisters, more work-focused and overshadowed by a flamboyant elder sister and mischievous younger brothers, she attracted teasing like a magnet did iron filings, whether it was for her brains, working habits, or slight social awkwardness. Out of school and into university, Lorraine had been fine- good, even. She’d enjoyed a more academic climate, although she still displayed about as much extroversion as an agoraphobic tortoise. She liked living quietly. As far as her parents were concerned, fair enough.

 

            They’d all been so proud of Lorraine when she’d got the Home Office job; even prouder when she got the MI5 one, though they weren’t allowed to talk about it. They had worried when she grew quieter, cooler, although she remained affectionate and denied that anything was wrong. When she said that she had been head-hunted for a top-secret job, they hoped that Lorraine might be happier in this new job- and then, less than a year in, one of Lorraine’s co-workers had made a cryptic phonecall saying that something horrible had happened, but that Lorraine herself was unharmed. It couldn’t have been less true. Lorraine might have been physically untouched, but something had been branded into her mind, a harrowing memory that put her through screaming nightmares, fuelled her tendency to burn off discomfort with overtime at work, and shaded in horrors in her eyes. She ate too little, and too irregularly; the same went for her sleep patterns. The Wickes family comfort machine went into overdrive, and Lorraine distanced herself. Eric, were he to admit it to himself, had been terrified.

 

            While the appearance on the scene of Niall Richards had been a surprise, it had turned out to be entirely welcome. He put a smile back onto Lorraine’s face, and Lorraine started to calm down, sleep better, claw back a measure of sanity (although, given Lorraine’s habit of keeping her ills to herself, her family weren’t sure whether they had Niall to thank or some kind of mental self-healing finally kicking in and saving Lorraine from herself.) Niall and Lorraine just worked together- unlikely, given that one was probably one of the most dangerous men in the ARC, and the other was usually considered about as harmful as the average kitten, but true.

 

            And then, this morning, they had come in separately. Niall had been ill-tempered; Lorraine- well, Lorraine had been in before anyone else, but she looked to Eric’s practised eye as if she was under stress.

 

            That was why Eric was so unaccustomedly quiet, returning only distracted replies to his colleagues’ questions as he scrutinised a batch of samples. They were entirely routine- he wasn’t worried about them, or even having to think very much about them. They left plenty of brain-space to consider his older sister’s and her boyfriend’s odd behaviour, and he didn’t much like the possibilities he was coming up with.

 

            Eric had just about registered Lorraine’s departure for the shooting range. It had been a shock to discover his sensible, quiet sister had a talent for shooting, but it had quickly become normal: what _wasn’t_ normal was Lorraine breaking her usual routine of practising at the end of the day. According to Jenny Lewis, Lorraine’s closest friend at the office, Lorraine heading for the shooting range earlier on was a sign that she was frightened or upset, and meant that those who cared about her should keep a sharp eye out. Taking that as an order, Eric was keeping a sharp eye out, but even if he hadn’t been he would have noticed his sister as she walked back up to her office; she looked almost normal to anyone else, but he could see she was preoccupied, unhappy and even a little afraid. She looked more stressed than she had done when she’d gone down to practise her skills, not less.

 

            Eric stared, and then hurriedly went back to his microscope, brain whirling faster. Something was definitely wrong.

 

            He made a split-second decision, and got up. “Coffee, anyone?” he enquired brightly of the technicians and scientists working with him, and took three orders and a bunch of polite no-thank-yous before trotting off, ostensibly in the direction of the coffee machine, but actually to find Jenny Lewis. She was probably Lorraine’s best friend, and might have a clue as to what was going on. More of one than he did, anyway.

 

            He passed the two younger medics, Rees and Trouble, and accosted them. They were about his own age, and he’d become fast friends with them, leading the more sober members of the ARC to forecast doom, gloom and practical jokes. “Oi, Mischief and Mayhem. Seen Miss Lewis around?”

 

            “Nope,” Trouble said cheerfully. “Nice shirt, by the way. Did you nick it off your girlfriend?”

 

            “He must have done,” Rees grinned, “for it to be that shade of pink.”

 

            “Black does nothing for my complexion,” Eric explained, with a grossly exaggerated flutter of his eyelashes which made both men laugh. “Unlike some people I could mention, Miss Lewis among them. You seen her, Rees?”

 

            “She must be changing or something,” Rees suggested. “They’ve just come in from a shout, and it was a bit mucky out there.”

 

            “Right, thanks.”

 

            “Why? Got a problem?”

 

            Eric shrugged and nodded. Trouble frowned, and folded his arms. “I would’ve thought you could just ask Miss Wickes. I mean, she’s your sister.”

 

            “Not about this,” Eric almost squawked. “No! God, no.”

 

            Rees frowned. “Has it got something to do with Blade and Lorraine? Because he came home soaking wet the other day, he’d walked halfway across London in the pouring rain, and-“  


            “ _Shut up_ ,” Eric hissed, alarmed, and ducked into a currently-empty office. The medics followed him. “Look, it might be. It would make sense. I don’t know. I just know Lori is miserable. Frightened and anx-“

 

            “He wouldn’t have hurt her!” Rees said, shocked. Trouble was frowning uneasily.

 

            “This is Blade, and he is a bit psycho...”

 

            “I live with him, mate, remember?” Rees snapped. “He could no more hurt Lorraine than he could cut out his heart.”

 

            “That’s a bit poetic,” Eric remarked. “Thank you for clearing up the most alarming of the possibilities which sprang to mind, ’cause I did... I thought, maybe... I mean... I never thought he’d pull a _knife_ on her or anything, and come to think of it she could just as well pull a gun on him, but...” His voice trailed off. He didn’t need to say that Blade was much stronger than Lorraine was, and that if he’d raised a hand to her she would have had little defence.

 

            Matt shook his head firmly. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’m almost certain.”

 

            “Almost?”  


            “This is Niall. Nothing’s certain,” Matt sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “I tried to talk to him about it when he got in, and so did Ross and Finn, but- he bit all of our heads off. He was furious.”

           

            Eric growled in frustration, and scrubbed his hands over his face. “God, I wish I knew for sure! If he has hurt her, I’ll _kill_ him. Excuse me, I’ve got to find Jenny, she’ll know what happened or at least she’ll have a better idea than I do...”

 

            He left quickly, forging through the corridors, dodging a trolley of botanical samples and flattening himself against a wall to avoid Connor on his skateboard, until he reached the women’s changing rooms, where he stood and waited until Abby appeared, short bleached hair still wet from the shower and glowing in a thoroughly-scrubbed sort of way. “Miss Maitland?” he asked, dredging up a charming smile.

 

            Abby stopped and looked at him, polite but still clueless as to who he was. “Yes?”  


“I’m Eric Wickes,” he said in an explanatory fashion. “Pathologist. I just wanted to ask, have you seen Miss Lewis?”

 

            “Jenny’s in there,” Abby said, jerking her head at the door to the changing rooms. “She’s just drying her hair, she’ll be out in a minute. Why d’you want to talk to her?”

 

            “Just a small problem,” Eric said, with a shrug and a disclaiming smile. “But sort of urgent.”

 

            “Oh. Well, she should be out soon.” Abby moved away, heading for the atrium, and Eric leaned against a wall and closed his eyes and waited. He tried not to think, and found it difficult.

 

            Luckily, in only a few moments the door swung open again and Eric started, eyes flying open. “Miss Lewis! Jenny!”

 

            “Yes?” Jenny said, staring at Eric in puzzlement. He looked bothered, and even after only three months of him working at the ARC she knew that was unusual.

 

            “I need a word. About Lorraine.”

 

            Jenny did not look surprised or confused; instead, her eyes sharpened. “You see it too.”

 

            “I see she’s upset and uncertain and maybe even a bit afraid, if that’s what you mean.”

 

            “Yes.” Jenny glanced around. “There are too many people here to talk about this. Do you know where the rest rooms are?”

 

            “No,” Eric said dryly. “No, of _course_ not, after all I _wasn’t_ using them all throughout that crisis when we thought we had prehistoric anthrax on our hands, I signed off at six every evening and went back home for a nice snooze...”

 

            That earned him a withering glare. “I’m going down there now, because I think I’ve left a book down there from last month. I suggest you make your way there in the next few minutes as well.”

 

            “Oh,” Eric said. “Well... Good luck finding your book?”

 

            “Thank you,” Jenny said, and turned on her heel and left.

 

            Eric, at a loss for what to do to fill up those next few minutes, wandered to his locker and fiddled with the padlock, then opened it, examining the inside. It was _heroically_ messy: he found himself thinking that Lorraine would despair if she saw it, but there wasn’t really much he could do with it now, and anyway, he could find everything he wanted. He shut the door again, padlocked it, and headed for the rest rooms.

 

            There were several of these, equipped with bolts, minus the usual cameras and relatively cheerful in the bare ARC. They were also very popular among the staff, and not just those who tended to find themselves in the office at midnight and too tired to go home; Lester commented caustically that at least it cut down on the number of quickies in the showers, and Eric was very careful to knock on each door just in case someone had forgotten to bolt it. Eventually, he knocked and elicited a call of “Hello? Who’s there?” from inside in Jenny’s voice. Eric slipped into the room, and bolted the door behind him.

 

            Jenny was sitting on the lower half of one of the bunk beds in the room, her legs crossed elegantly at the ankles. He went and sat on the lower half of the other bunk bed, facing Jenny. “So,” he said, a little awkwardly.

 

            “So,” Jenny agreed. “Now... You came looking for me because you were worried about Lorraine. So am I. Tell me what you saw that makes you anxious?”

 

            Eric locked his hands together and leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I... It’s hard to quantify, which, speaking as a scientist, pisses me the hell off. But- she walks like she does when she’s really, really unsure and struggling to hide it: she only looks a bit upset unless you know her very well, and she acts like it’s minor and shrugs it off, but she’s restless and not as focused as usual, and it shows up in the way she walks and stands. Did you see she went down to shoot just a bit earlier? No, of course, you’d have been out. Anyway, that’s totally out of character for her- you told me so yourself. She uses it for stress relief and waits till the end of the day. But today, _today_ , when she looks like she’s not sure of the ground she’s standing on, she goes shooting in the morning, and you know the worst bit? When she came back, it didn’t look like it had helped at all. It looked like it had made things worse, even!”   

 

            Jenny bit her lip. “Not good. For my part- well, I was in at eight o’clock this morning as usual, and Lorraine had definitely been in a while; possibly for hours. I could check the security logs, but my betting is that she was in by six.”

 

            Eric swore in surprise. “Six? B-“

 

            “Six,” Jenny confirmed, overriding him. “It’s not as bad as it could have been; a few months ago there was a week where she came in, regular as clockwork, at five o’clock in the morning. And I know there have been days when she’s slept over at the office; I’ve seen her fall asleep over her paperwork. But that was after the predators, and... you couldn’t blame anyone for being knocked off their perch by that. I thought that phase was well and truly done with, though.”

 

            “Blade ended it?” Eric said questioningly. He couldn’t be quite sure himself; Lorraine had left her family completely in the dark as to the future predator attack that had so comprehensively wrecked her peace of mind, and almost totally in the dark as to its effects on her, so it was very difficult for any of them to say when she started getting better or why.

 

            Jenny nodded. “More or less. It was getting better anyway, but he... I think he just made her relax a little, or something like that. Seeing her like this isn’t a throwback to the bad days, exactly, but it’s certainly not Lorraine at her happiest.”

 

            “Matt Rees thought she and Blade had maybe had a row,” Eric told Jenny, his fingers twisting and flexing as he thought, eyebrows drawn together in worry. “He said that Blade got home drenched and tired the other day, from walking across London- Blade could have walked out on her after a row?”

 

            “That would make sense, although God knows what they’d have argued about; from Lorraine’s flat to Hammersmith is a decent trek,” Jenny said, adding “Hammersmith- Blade shares a house with some of the other lads there.”

 

            “Rees said he was angry when he got back,” Eric said doubtfully. “I mean... it fits, the row thing.”

 

            “Yes,” Jenny said. “It would explain why Blade was angry when he got home, how sullen he was earlier, and why Lorraine is so... why her confidence is knocked. Blade can be frightening when he’s angry, but he doesn’t really know it, so he doesn’t take it into account when he deals with people. And I don’t think they’ve argued before. It might have- well, let’s look at this as fact rather than hypothesis and say it scared her. If he walked out, he wouldn’t have been there when he cooled down and she was still afraid, so he wouldn’t have seen... it doesn’t explain the shooting and why she came back upset.”

 

            “We could find out who else was down there when she was shooting?” Eric guessed.

 

            “Would they have needed another person around to row about?”

 

            “Maybe not,” he conceded. “But... I can’t see Lorraine letting another row develop, not if the other one upset her so much. She might not back down on whatever they were arguing about, but she’d do everything she could to stop it happening again. So something must have happened- something or someone.”

 

            Jenny hummed in agreement, smoothing the bedcover she was sitting on absently. “I see what you mean. What I don’t see is how we’d find out _who_ without spreading this further than it should go, and resolving it- or getting them to resolve it- in decent time. I think we may be best off confronting them separately.”

 

            “I’ll deal with Blade,” Eric said, perhaps a trifle too fast. Jenny glanced at him sharply, and he matched her stare for stare. “I want to know if he hurt my sister.”

 

            Jenny pursed her lips. “Don’t antagonise him. We want to solve the problem, not make it worse.”

 

            “Yes ma’am,” Eric said obediently.

 

            Jenny gave him an appraising look. “Hmm.” She stood up. “I’ll deal with Lorraine.”

 

            Eric nodded, and Jenny glanced at her watch. “Her lunch break is in half an hour. I’ll do it then. Try to avoid witnesses; I don’t imagine gossip will help matters.”

 

            “Yeah,” Eric agreed, and Jenny unbolted the door and went out, leaving Eric Wickes thinking hard.

 

***

 

            “Let’s go out for sushi,” Jenny said, and Lorraine looked up from her computer. Jenny noted the dark tired circles under her eyes.

 

            “Any reason?” Lorraine asked, taking off her reading glasses and rubbing her eyes.

 

            Jenny shrugged. “Not particularly. I just thought it would be nice.”

 

            Lorraine smiled wryly, replacing the reading glasses. “I don’t really have time for nice right now; I’ve got too much work to do. Maybe another time.”

 

            “Too much work?” Jenny leaned against her desk and folded her arms. “Lorraine, you need to take a break. You’re cooping yourself up in this office. I’ll bet you haven’t left it once since eight this morning.”

 

            “Cooping myself up in my office is my job,” Lorraine said calmly, highlighting something.

 

            “You need a break.”

 

            “I’m fine.”

 

            “Lorraine Wickes, that is a complete, total and utter _lie_.” Jenny took the few steps over to Lorraine’s desk and leant over it towards Lorraine, hands flat on the desk. “I know something is wrong,” she continued softly, “and I have a decent idea what, and you are going to either confirm or disprove my theory when we go out for sushi. Or if you’d rather, we can discuss it now, in a room which is undoubtedly bugged from here to Australia, and the entire ARC will find out.”

 

            Lorraine held Jenny’s gaze for a long time, and Jenny was reminded that Lorraine wasn’t as harmless as most thought her; but after a sleepless, unhappy night and a second disagreement in the morning, Lorraine hadn’t the strength to keep it up. Her eyes dropped, and she put her head in her hands. Jenny’s heart twisted painfully for her: she looked defeated.

 

            Jenny shifted to sit on the desk instead, and said more kindly: “When did you start work this morning, Lorraine?”

 

            “About ten to six,” Lorraine whispered, head still in her hands. “Jenny, I fucked up.”

 

            “Lester owes you some downtime,” Jenny told her, concealing shock- less at the hour Lorraine had turned up to work at, and more at the swearword. Jenny had never heard Lorraine raise her voice: swearing was unheard-of. Christ, Eric had been right, this was _bad_. Fleetingly, Jenny wondered if Eric might be right to worry that Niall had hurt Lorraine; the woman was wearing a short-sleeved blouse and Jenny couldn’t see marks on her arms or face, but did that mean nothing had happened?

 

            Jenny took a tissue from the box on her desk and presented it to Lorraine. “Blow your nose and compose yourself. We’re going out now.”

 

            Quickly, she got up and went out, nipping into the office next door. Lester looked up and raised his eyebrows at the abrupt intrusion. “Jenny, is there a problem?”

 

            “Yes. I’m taking Lorraine out for lunch. Something’s happened and she’s not well.”

 

            Lester frowned. “Something serious?”

 

            “Serious,” Jenny confirmed. “It may turn out to be easily mended, but-“ she toyed with the idea of sharing her theory about the fight with Lester, and then dismissed it- “on the other hand, it may not. Lorraine hasn’t told me exactly _what_ happened.”

 

            “Hm. Do let me know if I can help.”

 

            Jenny’s lips quirked at the thought of Lester dispensing relationship advice to Lorraine, and she nodded soberly before popping back to her and Lorraine’s office. Lorraine had blown her nose, pulled herself together and was in the process of collecting her mobile phone and other necessities into her handbag. Jenny followed her example, and smiled encouragingly at the other woman when they were both set to go.

 

            Lorraine wrote a quick post-it note- _out for lunch- JL, LW_ – and stuck it to the door as they left, quick steps out to the reception, buzzing themselves out with a nod and a smile for the receptionist and walking briskly through the streets of London until Jenny spotted a wagamama’s restaurant. She glanced at Lorraine. “Are you sold on the idea of sushi, or would you like wagamama’s?”

 

            “Wagamama’s,” Lorraine said, and they crossed the road and entered the restaurant. A smiling girl found them a seat at the end of one of the long tables with their benches; they ordered drinks and then went through the menu and ordered food too.

 

            At last, Jenny looked at Lorraine and said, “So tell me how you fucked up.”

 

            “Oh, God,” Lorraine murmured, head dropping, and Jenny noticed how tightly her hands were clasped on the table. Then Lorraine took a deep breath and sat up straight again, looking Jenny in the eye. Her voice turned tight and too bright, as if she was struggling to keep her feelings under control. “Blade and I fought.”

 

            Jenny bit her tongue and stayed silent, waiting for Lorraine to continue. She did.

 

            “It was last night. We got back to my flat early, and Blade was angry already- the day hadn’t gone too well, his arm was all cut up and bashed about. He was blaming Becker- the way they always do, you know –and it wasn’t fair, and I pointed it out. That...” Lorraine fell silent, turning the knife from the cutlery on the table over and over in her fingers. “He went ballistic, and we had a horrible, horrible row. He said I didn’t know what I was talking about; I told him he was being childish... He walked out. I couldn’t sleep, I was so shocked and- and afraid. He was _furious_ , and furious at _me_ , and that’s never happened before- never.”

 

            “You don’t think you’ll work it out?” Jenny asked softly. “Even the happiest couples fight at some point.”

 

            But Lorraine was shaking her head. “That’s not all. That wasn’t so much my fault, although I shouldn’t have talked to him like that, but- what happened this morning was all my fault.” She sipped her drink; plain sparkling water. “It was... target practice. I was practising and Danny Quinn came along- you know how my stance is a bit off?”

 

            “Yes.”

 

            “Danny tried to help me correct it. Blade saw. He got ridiculously jealous. We nearly had another row on the strength of it.” Lorraine took a shuddering breath. “The thing is... I _let_ it happen. I could have stopped Danny at any time, and I knew Blade was watching, but- I wanted to punish him, a bit. For the argument.” She sat back to let the waitress put her plate on the table, and picked up her knife and fork to make a start on the spicy chicken and rice. “So,” she concluded bleakly. “I fucked up.”

 

            Jenny sipped at her soup. “You think you’ve lost him?”

 

            Lorraine engineered a pause by taking a large bite of chicken, and chewing it for an unnecessarily long time while she thought. “Maybe. I... don’t know if we’ll ever have what we used to. Just... I don’t know if I’ll ever be so comfortable around him again.”

 

            The horrible suspicion that had occurred to Eric occurred to Jenny. “Lorraine.”

 

            Lorraine looked up and caught her eye. “Yes?”

 

            “Did he hit you?”

 

            “ _No_ ,” Lorraine said, startled. “He didn’t _touch_ me.”

 

            Jenny let out a relieved breath. “Thank God. I would have shot him if he had.”

 

            Reluctantly, Lorraine chuckled. “Thanks, but no thanks. No, it’s not that. It’s... I don’t think I can relax around him. I feel like I can’t trust him not to blow up on me. I...” Her voice trailed off. “I’d rather have heartbreak and perfect memories than an empty shell, do you see?”

 

            “I do see,” Jenny said, putting down her soup spoon and taking Lorraine’s hands. “And I think you and Blade still have a chance. I lost Mark over less, yes, but we never had what you two do. I think this will fade, and you’ll still have him. He loves you, you know that.”

 

            Lorraine met her eyes. “Do I?” she whispered.

 

            Jenny found a reassuring smile for her. “Yes.” She let go of Lorraine’s hands and brightened the smile. “You’ll be fine. You just need to start talking to him again.”

 

            “I want to,” Lorraine said wryly, “I’m just not sure he wants to talk to me.”

 

            Jenny snorted. “I bet you he does. This is Blade, and guessing the workings of his brain is not a precise science, but I just bet you he’s just as uncertain and sure he’s made irrevocable mistakes as you are.”

 

            “I’m almost convinced,” Lorraine told her, and took a gulp of water.

 

            “You’ll see,” Jenny said, with more confidence than she felt. If Lorraine gave up, then she really had lost him.

 

            “I certainly hope so.”

           

***

 

            It was considerably easier for Eric to get hold of Blade. He just went down to the rec room, stuck his head round the door and said cheerfully: “Anyone know where I can get hold of Norman? I’ve asked around, but no-one can tell me. All the lights have gone in the pathology lab.”

 

            “Fuses?” Blade guessed, looking up from his hand of cards and a rather intense card game. “Norman’ll be down in the caretakers’ office.”

 

            Eric pulled a face indicative of embarrassed stupidity. “Which is... where?”

 

            Blade got up, and put his cards face down on the table. “I’ll show you.”

 

            Eric let a relieved smile slide onto his face. “Thanks.”

 

            Blade led him down the corridor and through a confusing series of other passages; when he judged they were far enough out of anyone’s earshot, Eric said casually: “Blade, stop a minute.”

 

            Blade halted, frowning. “What?”

 

            “I’m afraid I told a lie. It’s not broken lights I need to sort out, it’s a broken Lorraine.” Eric bit the inside of his cheek, watching Blade’s reaction; the other man went very still, and Eric was abruptly reminded of a panther ready to spring.

 

            “Lorraine,” Blade said flatly, turning to face him full on.

 

            Eric nodded, folding his arms and leaning insouciantly against a wall. “I know you know my sister in more, ah, _depth_ than I do, and there’s things about her that you get and I will never, ever understand. But I’ve had more than twenty years of being scolded and helped and loved by her, and you’re _not_ going to tell me that everything’s just apple-pie perfect between you two when I can see that Lorraine’s walking round worried and unhappy and, yes, frightened. Or, you know, you might tell me everything’s okay but I sure as hell won’t believe you.”

 

            He let the words hang in the air for a few moments, and then said: “Niall Richards, you owe me an explanation.” He nodded at a door. “There’s a nice empty lab or office or whatever. I for one would rather not have this conversation in the corridor.”

 

            “We’ve sorted it out,” Blade gritted out through clenched teeth. “There was a problem, but it’s sorted.”

 

            Eric raised his eyebrows at him. “Now, aren’t I glad to hear that? When did you sort it?”

 

            “This morning. After Lorraine went to the firing range and beat the shit out of Danny Quinn for accuracy.” There was a faint hint of pride in his words, and it made Eric smile.

 

            “Did you sort it before or after she went back up to her office?”

 

            “Before,” Blade answered, and puzzlement flashed into his eyes.

 

            Eric shook his head. “I hate to break it to you, mate, but then it isn’t sorted. When I saw Lorraine going back to her office after target practice she looked a sight more upset than she did when she went out.”

 

            Blade was silent, but not the darker-edged kind of silent he had been when Eric had told him he wanted to talk to him about Lorraine, not lightbulbs. There was a distinctly uncertain tone in the air, and Eric took advantage of it, pushing the door open. “Ah. An office. Ooh, and the lights work too, that’s nice. Are you coming?”

 

            He stepped inside without looking round and dusted off one of the desks in order to perch on it, swinging his legs idly. Blade followed him, closing the door quietly, but remained standing.

 

            “Take a desk,” Eric invited, waving a hand at the other desk in the room. “Let’s not be formal.”

 

            Blade didn’t move.

 

            Eric rolled his eyes, drumming his heels against the desk he sat on. “Have it your way. Look, Niall, just tell me what happened.”

 

            “We fought.”

 

            “When? About what? Details. Tell me more, tell me more, did she put up a fi- sorry. Carry on.”

 

            “Last night. About Captain Becker. He screwed up in the field. Lorraine tried to make excuses for him.”

 

            “Lorraine does like to see both sides of an argument,” Eric observed. “Was it a bad fight?”

 

            “Fucking awful,” Blade admitted reluctantly. “I don’t know why the hell she leapt in to defend him, but she did. I got angry. I said she didn’t know what she was talking about. She lost her temper and called me immature, subjective (God knows what she meant by that) and stupid. We were shouting at each other.”

 

            “Subjective meant she thought you weren’t judging the case on its merits,” Eric translated, and sighed. “Sounds like a stonker of a row. Passing over whether either of you were right or wrong, what happened next? Did she seem upset?”

 

            “Don’t be an idiot- we were both upset, we were yelling at each other!” Blade snapped, glaring at Eric.

 

            “Did she start crying?” Eric said simply.

 

            Blade said nothing.

 

            “Or did you not hang around long enough to see?” Eric asked, pressing the advantage while he had it.

 

            Blade leant back against the other desk and examined the toes of his size thirteen boots rather intently. He seemed a little embarrassed now that Eric was dragging out details of what he’d actually said and done, as if he knew on reflection that he’d made a mistake. “I walked out, yeah.”

 

            Eric removed his glasses and polished them on his shirt, not looking at Blade. “So, you walked out, and I think we can assume you didn’t go back and you didn’t ring her because you were just too damn angry, so let us skip merrily onward. What happened this morning?”

 

            “I went looking for her,” Blade said slowly. “Because... I was sorry. And I thought she might be unhappy- Anders asked me why Lorraine came into work before six, looking like she was being tailed by nightmares. Lieutenant Anders?”

 

            “Rings a bell,” Eric acknowledged. “Medium-height. Blond hair. Has occasional moments of public indecency with Carter.”

 

            Blade almost smiled. “Got it in one. Anyway... he said that and it bothered me, because she used to do that when she... wasn’t well. I went looking for Lorraine, tried her office and she wasn’t there, checked the photocopiers and the water-cooler and the kitchen, and then I went down to the shooting range. You know Quinn?”

 

            “Cocky ex-copper who looks like he’s been chipped off Ben Nevis, thatched with hay and run through a Motorbike Use For The Overconfident course?”

 

            “That’s him. He fancies himself as a good shot. He’s not that bad, but he has nothing on Lorraine or Finn or Hart. Lorraine was watching him, and then she had a go, but Quinn told her her stance was off, and he corrected it.”

 

            Eric did not miss the way Blade tensed up, or the simmering anger in his voice. “Corrected it?” he said softly, asking for details. Blade obliged.

 

            “Stood behind her and put his arms around her.”

 

            “Oh, ah. And?”

 

            “He moved off and let her shoot. She missed the target and then tried again the way she prefers to stand. Two shots, one hole.”

 

            Eric whistled. “She’s good, my sister.”

 

            “She’s the best,” Blade corrected. “The lads have started teasing Finn-“

 

            “When are they _not_ teasing Finn-“

 

             “-that she’s going to get better than him if he’s not careful.”

 

            Eric grinned, thinking of his own poor scores. “Makes me ashamed to be so crap!”

 

            “Practise,” Blade said brutally. “It worked for Lorraine.”

 

            “I can see that,” Eric said. “I can also see that fear helped, but that’s another conversation for another time. What happened after Lorraine put Super-Quinn in his place?”

 

            “We went to the rec room. I was jealous... I... she let him _touch_ her. I was standing right there and she let him _touch_ her.”

 

            “She is, of course, your property and no-one else has a right to lay a hand on her,” Eric murmured, laying on the sarcasm not so much with a trowel as with a JCB.

 

            Blade flushed dull red with embarrassment; not an oh-mercy-me kind of embarrassment, but an I-will-knock-your-teeth-out-for-saying-that kind of embarrassment. “That’s... what Lorraine said.”

 

            “Colour me surprised,” Eric said sarcastically. “Seriously, Niall, that was _dim_.”

 

            Blade maintained a stony silence.

 

            “And then what happened?  You said you sorted it.”

 

            “We _did_ ,” Blade said. “I apologised for walking out on her last night and asked her to forget about the row.”

 

            Eric flopped backwards to lie on the desk and groaned. “Idiot!”

 

            “What?” Blade demanded, defensive. “She agreed.”

 

            “Lorraine _loves_ you. There’s fucking little she wouldn’t do to not lose you! Agreeing to something she knows won’t work is nothing for her. She didn’t want to start another row by telling you she didn’t want to forget the last one while you hadn’t talked about it! _She was afraid_!”

           

            Eric hauled himself upright again. “Oh God, where to _start_? This is such a mess. Right. Let’s start at the beginning. It’s a very good place to start. Fact number one: you frightened Lorraine.”

 

            “I _what_?”

 

            “You frightened her,” Eric said inexorably, crashing ruthlessly over any tender feelings Blade might have on the subject of his own conduct with relation to Lorraine with all the discrimination of a tap-dancing elephant. “You were angry. You’re not the most even-tempered person in the world, even you can admit that. You’re physically imposing, and when you’re angry, you’re downright terrifying- or so I’m told, and I can quite easily imagine it. Now, you get angry with Lorraine. Your first serious argument, yeah?”

 

            Blade nodded, staring at Eric.

 

            “And you look fucking scary and Lorraine is standing there, unarmed and shorter and weaker than you. You tell me, how easy would it be for Lorraine to believe that you might raise a hand to her?”

 

            Eric let the words sink in, and watched their effect on Blade. He wasn’t disappointed. Blade went white under his tan, and shock flashed on his face. “She wouldn’t think that. I couldn’t. I didn’t!”

 

            “I believe you,” Eric said softly, a little reassured. “But I have to dispute that Lorraine wouldn’t think that. Wound up to a high emotional pitch, confronted by one of the scariest bastards she’s ever met... even if only for a second, I’m pretty damn sure that she would think you capable of anything, up to and including Actual Bodily Harm. So yeah, you scared her, and because you walked out you weren’t with her when you calmed down and she was still afraid, so she didn’t get to tell you so herself and you never told her what you just told me, you never gave her the reassurance she needed. And then you did it again today, and you didn’t realise you scared Lorraine because she found the courage to tell you where you got off.”

 

            Eric paused to check his audience. Blade was visibly shocked, and Eric nodded in satisfaction and continued.

 

            “So. Now we’ve established that you managed to frighten your girlfriend (well done, genius), let’s move on to the actual arguments. The first one...”

 

            “I might have been a bit wrong there,” Blade muttered. “It... that was kind of my fault. I wasn’t fair.”

 

            “I’m sure Lorraine wasn’t either,” Eric soothed. “I think there was stuff she maybe didn’t take into account. Shared blame there, sort it out amongst yourselves. The second, on the other hand... Yeah, I have something to say about that.”

 

            “Like what?” Blade demanded.

 

            “ _Like grow the fuck up, you stupid bastard!_ ” Eric’s voice rose, full of fury. “So maybe letting Quinn correct her stance wasn’t bright of her, but you don’t need to be _jealous_! How many times am I going to have to say this? Lorraine is in love with you! She wouldn’t look at anyone else because she doesn’t want anyone else! Listen to me. None of us, Jacinth or George or me, have ever seen Lorraine fall so hard for _anyone_. Jacinth used to worry about her with you, because she thought Lorraine was riding for a fall! You don’t own Lorraine; she loves you so she stays with you of her own free will, so put some trust in her. For fuck’s sake, isn’t love _supposed_ to be trust? You haven’t got competition, so don’t flip out over something stupid like Danny Quinn trying to show her how to shoot!” He stopped for breath, glaring furiously at Blade. “We can see it. Why won’t you?”

 

            Blade glared back, and Eric searched his eyes for signs of understanding and found none; he let out a sound of disgust. “You don’t get it. I give up!”

 

            Eric jumped off the desk, and headed for the door, shoving it open, and just as he left he heard something and turned. “You spoke?” he said coldly.

 

            “I said, she’s too good for me.” Blade’s voice was quiet; he was looking away from Eric, staring at his feet again with his arms folded across his chest.

 

            Eric shut the door and leaned against the wall. “Yeah?”

 

            “Yeah,” Blade confirmed to his boots, still quiet, not an ounce of fight in his words. “She’s smarter than I am. There isn’t so much- she has fewer dark corners in her mind. She’s got courage and respect and a bright future ahead of her. Why would she want me? I’m gone for long periods and I can’t tell her why, I’ve nearly died more times than I can count, I _know_ there’s a few nasty twists in the way I think. I need her and I want her and I love her, and I know she deserves better. I’m... I don’t want her to leave me. She fixes me. But... she deserves better than me.”

 

            Eric let himself slide down to sit on the floor, reeling inside, and hauled out an answer from the only bit of his brain still functioning after the most stunning confession since Joan of Arc recanted. “Better than unconditional love? Nobody deserves better than that. Few enough people find it in anyone for any length of time, and I don’t think Lorraine could ask you for more than that ’cause I don’t think more even exists.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Trust me. You two... you work together, but you’re going to have to put aside whatever kind of weird insecurity problems you’ve got and stop letting your temper talk for you. Lorraine _knows_ what she wants. Giant clue: the answer begins and ends with ‘you’. Okay? Am I making sense?”

 

            “Sort of.”

 

            “Good. Think about it. Act on it. Before we all go stark raving mad and the ARC falls to pieces. And-” he stood, and walked over to Blade, and held out a hand. Puzzled, Blade shook it. “I couldn’t have told me what you told me. I’m... well. I’m impressed.”

 

            And he walked out and back down the corridor, back towards the pathology lab and its mysteriously functioning lights, a little more hopeful than he had been before.

**Author's Note:**

> Link to part four, by Fi. http://fififolle.livejournal.com/187781.html


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